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FLOATING* BEACON. 

PR 

4699 

F9 F5 

TURNER'S 

^RA^IATIC LIBRARY 




sting- Plays 

x'rinted from the Acting Copy, with Re- 
marks on the Piece ; Description of Costume ; 
Cast of Characters; Exits and Entrances; 
Relative Positions ; and correctly marked with 
the whole of the 




as performed in the 

London and American Theatres, 

WITH 

SPIRITED ENGRAVINGS. 

PHILADELPHIA : 
FRED. TURNER, PUBLISHER? 

Sold by Turner and Fisher, 

NEW YORK, & PHILADELPHIA. 





Class TTVy^ 
Book JEq Fs 



Supier's 2Bcamatfc Sfuvarg. 
THE 

FLOATING BEACON, 

OR, 

NORWEGIAN WRECKERS: 

A MELO DRAMA, 

Xix £too Slots. 



BALL, 



BY EDWARD S 

Author of " Waverly — Fortunes of Nigel — Peveril of 
the Peak — Joan of Arc — Barher of Bagdad — Inkeeper of 
Abbeville — Three Hunchbacks — Thread Mill—Thalaba^the 
Destroyer" Sfc, fyc." 



CORRECTLY PRINTED FROM THE MOST APPROVED 
ACTING COPY 

WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THE COSTUME, CAST OF THE 

CHARACTERS, ENTRANCES AND EXITS, RELATIVE 

POSITIONS, AND THE WHOLE OF THE 

STAGE BUSINESS; 

To which are added, 

PROPERTIES AND DIRECTIONS, AS PERFORMED IN THE 

PRINCIPAL THEATRES. 



TURNER & FISHER: 
NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA. 



7 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

SURREY, 1824. 



Angerstoff, Captain of the Beacon, 
£Z£. | ^Companions, { 
Weignstadt, an old Fisherman, 
Frederic, d supposed Orphan, 
Junk, a British Sailor, 



Mr. H. Kemble. 
Mr. Lloyd. 
Mr/ Smith. 
Mr. Loveday. 

Mr. Rowbotham, 

Mr. Gallot. 



Sailors, Marines, Sfc, 

Mariette, Woman of the Beacon, Mrs. VV. Clifford. 
Christine, WeignstadVs Daughter, Miss Healy. 



COSTUME. 



ANGERSTOFF.— Black wig and cap, (a-Ia banditti,) 
crimson jacket, with tabs, trimmed with black, — brass 
clasps, — broad brass belt, — blue and white broad striped 
shirt, — white petticoat Irowsers, — dark blue stockings, — 
brass buckles, — buff leather shoes. 

MAURICE.— Brown jacket trimmed with black, — black 
belt, — red trunks, — brass loops,— russet or black fisher- 
man boots,— red and white striped shirt, — dark blue cap, 
—black curled hairs. 

ORMOLOFF.— Same as Maurice, in other colours. 

WEIGNSTADT.— Fisherman's rough blue jacket,— 
broad hat, — covered with black oil skin, — gray bald headed 
wig, — Guernsey vest, blackneck cloth, — petticoat trowsers, 
— russet belt, — with brass buckles, — fisherman's boots 
above knees. 

FREDERIC— Blue tabbed jacket, trimmed with red 
— petticoat trowsers, trimmed with red, — black morocco 
belt,— light blue and white shirt, — red stockings, with 
black clocks, — buff shoes, — blue cap, bound with red trim- 
ming. 

This dress is generally more modernized, but not so 
picturesque. . 

JACK JUNK.— A Sailor's dress,— glazed Man-a-War 
hat, with an eagle painted on the front, — black belt, — brass 
buckle, — the rest left to fancy. 

MARINES. — Blue military coatees, — Blue trowsers, — 
red stripes down the seams — military caps, with red pom- 
poons, muskets, &c. 

MARIETTE.— Slate coloured eldery dress, with red 
drapery, — hair dishevelled, — dress and drapery trimmed 
with black,— black belt and brass buckle round waist. — 
The whole wild and picturesque. 

CHRISTINE.— Blue boddice,— large hanging sleeves- 
buff petticoat with black and blue trimming, — blue stock- 
ings,«black shoes and neat buckles. 



THE FLOATING- BEACON. 



ACT 1. 



SCENE l.~77je Sea Coast at Bergen, with Boats, and 
Shipping in the distance, — Cottage, s. e. r. h. — a small 
Public house — s. e. l. h. — sign of the Ship, practicable 
boat near the shore l. h. — Curtain rises to lively music. 
Christine discovered at the cottage window. Jack Junk 
and Sailors enter from the Inn. 

Chorus, Junk and Sailors. 

Freight, brothers, freight, aboard repair, 1 
The sea runs smooth, the wind sets fair ; 
The canvass spread, away we go ! 
Huzza, huzza, for England, ho ! 

Christine (at Window.) 

Stay, pri'thee stay, 'tis almost night, 

Sure 'twere time at morning's light, — 

With day break, say, should storms assail, 

Were it not best, to meet the gale, 
Jack. Avast there, pretty maid, I pray, 

Blow high, blow low, still no delay, — 

Despite the tear, in your black eye, 

Your sweetheart now, must cry, good bye. 
Chris. Sailor, sailor, whence this speed, 

Mischance, in yonder clouds I read; 

The canvass spread, at mornings's glow, 

And then, huzza, for England ho ! 
Jack and Sailors. 

Blow high, blow low, 

Still we must go. 



O THE FLOATING BEACON. 

Chris. Ah, no, no, no. ' 
Jack. Three cheers, three cheers. 
Chris. Ah no, no, no. 
Three cheers, three cheers, for England ho ! 

Enter Weignstadt, from the cottage, r. h. as Christine 
retires from the window. 

Weign. So, my friend, all's prepared, and you are for 
getting aboard the sloop with our Frederic to night, ha ! 

Jack. Never let the wind slip, that's our motto on board 
the Eagle sloop, for she's a ticklish lady like the most of 
her sex, d'ye see, and won't come to hand just when she's 
wanted, we watch for her, not she for us ; but where's this 
young spark of yours, that means to share our voyage to 
old England, — his heart don't begin to fail him, does it? 

Weign. Fail him I no, no ! he's too brave a lad for all 
that ; he's no fair weather chicken, not he indeed. I can 
assure you, that his hand, young as he is, has saved many a 
poor wretch from a watery grave. Why I've known him, 
on a dark night, when the sea ran mountains high, at the 
cry of distress, leap into the boat and off he was like a 
shot to assist the unfortunate, 

Jack. What country is the lad ? 

Weign. You know he's not my son ! I should think 
him English. 

Jack. Think him English ! Damme I'm sure of it. 

Weign. {Eagerly.) How ! what is't you say ! English ! 
why? 

Jack. Because, there never yet was a true Englishman, 
that thought of his own danger, when he could save another 
in the hour of distress. 

Weign. I've heard as much before Jack, and I hope that 
the English may ever do any thing abroad to disgrace the 
glorious name they have earn'd at home. 

Jack. They never will, they never shall — damme they 
never can. 

Weign. Ah, it's now sixteen years, come St. Mary's 
night, since a terrible storm took place off this coast, an 
English ship was wrecked ; not a soul escaped — all pe- 
rished — no, I forget — not all, this boy of mine, whom I 
call Frederic, came floating to shore on a raft. — Well, I 



THE FLOATING BEACON. 7 

took the child home he was too young to be sensible of 
the peril he had just encountered,— at first he would cry 
for his poor mother — which was the only word he could 
utter — what the deuce is the matter with my old eyes, the 
sand has blown into them I think, to make 'em water 
thus? 

Jack. The sand has blown into my young eyes I think 
for the pumps are all at work like — Well, you gave the 
youngster a birth — ha ! 

Weign. To be sure I did, d'ye think I could have the 
neart to turn my back on an innocent babe, whose only 
parent perhaps perished in a wat'ry grave ? — No, no, 
though no Englishman, Jack, I had lived long enough in 
the world to know, there is no blessing so delightful, as 
that which centre in the performance of' a good action I 

Jack. Bravo, my old boy, damme, if you are not an En- 
glishman, I'm sure you must be his first cousin. 

Weign. Ha, ha, ha ! well to cut the matter short, the 
boy turn'd out a good son to me — he is now the staff the 
pride of my age — and when he returns from this voyage 
to England, which is solely for the purpose of endeavour- 
ing to learn something of his family, I intend that he 
should marry my daughter Christine, they love each other 
tenderly, and all I have shall be theirs — but they are here* 

Enter Frederic and Christine, from the cottage, r. h. 

Fred. Now, my dear father, I am ready to embark ; ere 
dawn, the vessel will be under weigh. 

Jack. Aboard — aboard ! yo — ho ! 

Weign, Heaven's blessing attend you, my boy ; in ful- 
filling this cherish'd wish of your heart, you'll not fail to 
return with the same captain and by the same vessel. 

Fred. O, doubt it not ; my inquiries will be brief and to 
the purpose I hope ; — should I succeed and prove the son 
of respectable parents, it will be the better for you and my 
dear Christine — but it grows late. 

Chris. You are sure, you'll not forget us in your ab- 
sence, Frederic. 

Fred. Forget you, Christine, can you love me and ask 
that question, — could I cease to remember that to your 
father,, I owe, even life itself ? Farewell, farewell; what- 



O THE FLOATING BEACON. 

ever scenes pass before my eyes, still, Christine, I shall 
turn with new delight, to these grateful shores, and to the 
happpy fisherman's hut on the banks of Norway ! Fare- 
well, farewell. 

Weigri. Prosperity, my boy, prosperity. 

Jack. Avast there, my masters, — aboard, aboard, for En- 
gland, ho ! 
[Music as they enter the boat l. h. Christine and Weinstadt 

exit into the cottage, r. h. 

SCENE II. — Interior of Weinstadt's Cottage. — Enter 
Christine, l. h. 

Chris. Heigho ! in the absence of my beloved Frederic, 
I "am afraid the moments will pass heavily ; nobody to ex- 
press one's apprehensions to when the sea roars, and the 
wind whistles though the pine branches at night ; and if I 
turn pale or tremble, father will only blow a huge whiff of 
tobacco from his pipe, and cry nonsense, all's fair enough 
over head ? — But Frederic ! he was always so kind and so 
affectionate! with him — even the fisherman's cottage 
possess'd the peace and happiness of a palace. 

Song. 

When rude gales are blowing, 

And storms overcast — 
When raindrops are flowing, , 

Thro' tempest and blast. — 
O, then my own true love, 

Thou'lt think upon me, 
And the fisherman's hut — 

On the cliff of the sea. 

When lightning is flashing, 

And death strides the main ; 
Where breakers are lashing, 

And groans burst in vain, 
O, then my own true love, 

Thou'lt think upon me, 
And the fisherman's hut, 

On the cliff of the sea. 



THE FLOATING BEACON. » 

Enter Weinstadt, l. h. 

Weign." (Hastily.) Surely the boat will put back, I ob- 
served nothing, till this instant. 

Chris. You are agitated, father, what is it you* appre- 
hend ? 

Weign. Nothing, child, nothing ! 

Chris. Gracious heaven, you tremble too !=-! hear ! 'tis 
the wind that howls so fearfully — one of our sudden-storms 
rising — is it not so — father — speak. 

Weign. I thought the clouds seem'd unexpectedly over- 
casting the heavens; it is nothing but my conceit, — I am 
old, Christine, and apt to forbode — 'tis nothing. 

[Thunder. 

Chris. Ah, father ! do you call that nothing ? Frederic 
cannot have reach'd the vessel — the boat will be upset. 

Weign. Nonsense ! set a woman's fears afloat, and it 
runs nine knots an hour — why, how terrified the girl looks ! 
— if there were aught lo apprehend should'nt I be alarm'd 
think you ? 

Chris. Yes, father, and you are so ; don't attempt to 
deceive me, by a show of fortitude which you do not pos- 
sess ; that you should study to disguise your terrors does 
but magnify mine — O, Frederic! Frederic! why leave 
us 'till day break — (Thunder) agony, another crash. 

Weign. The boy has ventured to sea in much worse 
weather ! 

Chris. Ah ! he is too brave ! hark ! 

Weign. What was that ? 

Chris. There, it sounds again ! I hear it thro' the hol- 
low pauses of the storm, 'tis the cry of some dying, drown- 
ing wretch, that calls on heaven for protection ! listen, 
how the rain and hail patters against the casement. 

Weign. Silence, I can endure this suspense no longer — 
it grows dark — awfully dark ! Should they be thrown upon 
the sand bank, they are lost! — Open the window, see 
whether the lantern of the Floating Beacon be not lighted 
yet, — that alone can warn them of the danger. (Hail.) 
Stay ! — I'll open the casement myself, you are too tremu- 
lous. (Music.) As he opens the casement — a gun is fired. 

Chris. Ah ! mark how the sea rages! there — i here's 
the boat in distress ! — they fired a signal of despair! — O, 
Frederic ! 



10 THE FLOATING BEACON. 

Weign. But see, the lanterns of the Beacon are lit ! — 
now they'll pull the boat towards land, — bring me my sea 
cloak — and a torch — this way, girl, — I'll to the rocks and 
watch-*-this way ! [Exit, l. h. 

Chris. {In tears.) O Frederic ! dear, lost Frederic. 

[Exit, L. H. 
( Thunder and Storm continues.) 

SCENE HI.— The deck of the Floating Beacon; a mast 
with rigging conducting to the lanterns of the vessel 
which are lighted ; Angerstoff sleeping on the hatchway, 
casks, ropes, S$c. a glass door, u. e. l. h. opening into 
the cabin. {Music.) Marriette enters wildly from cabin , 
with a lamp in her hand, and stands for an instant in the 
centre of the Stage, listening to the tempest. 

Mar. Another, and another dreadful flash succeeds, the 
breakers bent fearfully against these rocks as if to usher in 
new victims, to the sanguinary assassins of this desolate 
Beacon, the beacon of death! — the abode of horror and 
despair ! — (Puts down the lamp.) — Angerstoff asleep — gra- 
cious heaven ! — can the guilty sleep thus in the hour of 
tempest and destruction, while I, the distracted victim of 
another's crime, wildly franticly press my scorched brow 
in all the anguish of untold, unutterable woe ! O Deity! 
when wilt thou hearken to the prayer of Mariette ? from 
the dark, deep waters, when, when release her tortured 
soul from the miseries of hated existence ? 

Frederic appears cMnging to the side of the vessel amidst 
the tempest.' 



Fred. Help — help — help ! 

Mar. Horror ! another human voice— silence, miserable 
youth, or you are lost, plunge again into the deep ocean, 
rather than enter here — the waters raging furiously are less 
merciless, than the monsters of the Floating Beacon. , 
[Music. — Frederic appears sinking with exhaustion. 
Fred. I alone am safe, all else sunk in the boat, — mer- 
ciful providence — I — oh ! 

[Attempting to enter falls across side of vessel. 



THE FLOATING BEACON. 11 

Mar. Alas, alas ! he is for ever lost, poor hapless boy ! 
Music. Marriette goes cautiously to Angerstoff, takes the 

lamp from a barrel and observes that he is still asleep, 

then approaches cautiously to Frederic and raises him 

up in great agitation, he slowly recovers, and supplicates, 

she motions him in hurried alarm to summon his strength 

and begone, they come forward, he points to a wound which 

he has received in his" forehead ; and endeavouring to rise, 

sinks at her feet. 

Fred. I am exhausted, — the rugged edges of these 
rocks, have lacerated my brow — I bleed — I am strength- 
less — pity ! — 
[Music. — As Marriette gazes on him, Angerstoff awakes, 

listens and pretends to sleep. 

Mar, Wounded — alas — alas ! — you are young and pre- 
possessing, doubtless you have hearts akin to your own in 
affection, you have friends whom you love and who love 
you tenderly — ah ! — if you would ever behold them again 
— summon your strength, and quit this vessel. 

Fred. Yes, 1 have friends who idolize my very name 
they will seek me here — they will — 

Mar. Find only your murdered corse, — unless indeed — < 
meagre poverty has so marked you for its own, that yon 
possess not the least pittance to gratify the sordid grasp of 
remorseless guilt; even then, perhaps, your blood — yours, 
— may wantonly be given to dye the yelling waves. 

Fred. Who is it shall dare to dispossess me of exis- 
tence ? 

Mar. (Cautiously.) There are wretches so lost even in 
this Beacon. 

Fred. And you — you exist here ? 

Mar. True, I do exist here as the slave of a demon, 
abide beneath the influence of an abhorred master ; O 
God ! how often have I prayed for death, that my blood, 
mine — could be shed upon the ebbing tide, and bear to you 
distant shore a crimson testimony of wrongs, never — never 
to be effaced ! a moment only is left me — here, on the 
dark vessel's deck ! amid the roaring tempest and the 
howling waters ! hear me, heaven sent stranger, relate a 
tale of maddening, heart dissolving woes ! — hear it and fly 
forever to save yourself— if not to avenge my wrongs I<~» 
I am— 



12 THE FLOATING BEACON. 

Ang. (Rising.) How now, Mariette, begone — stranger, 
whence this intrusion ? 

Fred. The boat in which I lately quitted the shore, was 
upset in the storm, I struggled with the overwhelming 
waters till I reached your vessel, a rope served me to as- 
cend — I demand your hospitality. 

Ang. You shall have it. 

Mar. (Hastily.) No, no, no ! 

Ang. (Furiously.) I' say yes! Shall I, on such a night, 
pitiless as the storm itself, refuse shelter to the lone op- 
pressed wanderer. Ha, ha, ha ! heed not my wife, young 
man, she's mad — aye and mischievous in the bargain, but 
these women have all perverse and hard hearts, where they 
take a distaste. 

Mar. Monster ! — heed him not, youth heed him not, he 
smiles, while his treacherous fingers wrestle with the se- 
cret poignard, intended for the breast of innocence. 

Fred. What am I to understand, I require merely shel- 
ter and compassion. 

Mar. Seek it then, in the flood from which you have so 
recently escaped rather than here. — He that dashes bravely 
down the roaring cataract may escape with life, but he 
that leisurely confides in the oath of a heartless murderer,, 
like that — 

Ang. Maniac! you forget yourself. 

Mar. Is that wonderful, when heaven seems to forget 
me? 

Ang. Mark what impiety — you are convinced now of 
her madness. 

Fred. To me her wildness implies, a broken heart ; 
you know her grief and can best speak to the truth of my 
conjecture.* From my heart I pity her misfortunes, be 
they what they may. 

Mar. Pity, pity ! hear that, ye raging winds, hear it 
and be still!— hear it, ye loud thunders, ye darkly gather- 
ing clouds, and bid it dissolve your elemental horrors to 
the blue calm of one expanding aether ! 'tis the first ac- 
cent of compassion that for sixteen years has lit upon my 
desolated soul — it makes me weep — it — bless thee, poor 
boy, — bless thee, bless thee, thou shalt mix with angels 
presently ! 



THE FLOATING BEACON. 13 

Ang. (To Fred.) You hear, you are convinced. 

Fred. Too well ! but is there no aid. 

Mar. Aid for Marriette, O no ! had there been aid, 
human or divine for struggling innocence, think you that 
when the dying cries of my lost murdered husband, cleft 
the horrid roof of this floating charnel house, it would not 
have burst forth from the very depths of creation — think 
you — [S/ie seems choaked with grief. 

Ang. (Whistles.) Her distraction becomes intolerable. 

Enter Ormoloff and Maurice, u. e. l. h. 

Take away Marietie — she rages ! 

Mar. (As they seize her.) Unloose me wretches ! there's 
blood upon your hands, I know it, 'tis Malvern's blood! 
(rushes out.) Horrible—horrible ! 

Fred. (Aside.) Malvern ! that name, 'tis familiar to my 
ear, — Malvern — can it be, (takes a bracelet from his breast 
and gazes on it.) 'tis the same. 

Ang. Follow her not, she'll not busy herself about the 
domestic concerns — we shall hear no more of her to day 
at least ; come, young man, you need refreshment, 'tis 
here at hand. 

Fred. The storm abates, if you have a boat I would to 
shore immediately, or my friends — 

Ang* You, familiar to this coast, and not know that 
convicts like me, transported to this vessel, are condemned 
perpetually to trim the beacon light, and to quit this place 
of exile'but with life ? 

Fred. But I am no convict. 

Ang. True, but as we have no boat, you must remain 
with us 'till the government men bring us our supplies of 
food and oil. 

Fred. Which will be in — 

Ang. In three days — console yourself, you are welcome. 

Fred. (Aside.) I like not the appearance of these men 
— that mysterious woman — the same name ! — Malvern ! 
— and — 

Ang. Come, come, seat yourself— bring forward the 
table there. 

Fred. The fishing boats are forbid to approach this bea- 
con? 



14 THE FLOATING BEACON. 

Ang. True, once here they are determined not to let us 
escape — eat — you seem exhausted. 

Fred. (Seating himself.) I thank you — I am so — but — 

Aug. You belong to these parts, 1 suppose ? 

Fred. You are right. 

Ang. I hope you lost nothing material in being upset. 

Fred. Nothing — the dearest treasure I depend on is still 
safe, here in my breast. 

Ang. A treasure ! 

Fred. Yes — to me an invaluabl one. 

Ang. It consists of — 

Fred. A coral bracelet and clasp. 

Ang. A— What? 

Mariette enters, u. e. l. h. 

Fred. A bracelet and clasp. 

Ang. Is that all ? 

Fred. Every thing ! 

Ang. Urn ! I suppose it is a gift of your sweet-heart ; 
or what have you to do with such a childish bauble ? 

Fred. A few words will explain — you remember per- 
haps, that fifteen or sixteen years ago, an English ship 
was wrecked off these rocks. — 
[Maurice and Ormoloff listen and draw near, MarriettE 

at the mention of " English ship," seems almost convul- 
sed, the rest are too intent to notice her agitation. 

Ang. A — a an English ship! aye — yes, I recollect 

the circumstance — it was a fearful storm, not a soul es- 
caped. 

Fred. Yes, there was one escaped, one, who has never 
been able to recount the story of that dreadful night. 

Ang. (Aside.) He means Mariette — you are certain 
what you speak is true — one escaped ? 

Fred. Quite certain ; that one, was myself! 

Ang. Yourself! 

Fred. Yes, I was an infant; and this bracelet which I 
mentioned to you, was found about my neck— and the 
clasp had on it the name of— 

Ang. What — what? 

Fred. Malvern. 

Mar. Malvern ! merciful heaven ! 

[She falls senseless on the ground. 



THE FLOATING BEACON. 1.5 

Ang, Mariette here again — we shall be betrayed — drag 
her into the cabin and lock the door ! (to Fred.) you'll ex- 
cuse this singular conduct. 

[Mariette carried into cabin, u. e. l. h. 

Fred. It requires no forgiveness. 

Ang. Seat yourself, I must arrange for your accommo- 
dation below, make yourself at home, in an instant I'll 
return. 
[Music, he exits, s. e. r. h. beckoning to Maurice and 

Ormoloff, who having locked the cabin door and thrown 

the keys on a cask follow him. 

Fred. What am I to think of these people ! the chilling 
deportment of the man— the singular phrenzy of his wife 
— both were alike dreadfully agitated at mention of the 
name on this bracelet — a mystery seems attached to their 
conduct, which I vainly struggle to comprehend. — They 
have locked, — she comes to the window — 'tis me she 
beckons — the keys left on yon cask — I'll speak to her, 
there must be danger or. — 
[Music, he goes to the door of cabin, unlocks it and 

Mariette is about to enter, when Angerstoff speaks 

without. 

Ang. (Without.) All's right! all's right ! 
[Music Mariette gives Frederic a paper, and hastily 

closes the door, he replaces the keys, returns to his seat 

and reads I 

Fred. M Be on your guard ! drink and you are lost, seem 
to sleep" — but — still I do not comprehend — I'll— 

Enter Angerstoff and the others, s. e. l. h. 

Ang. All is well arranged, you'll sleep soundly at night 

I'll warrant. 

Fred. (Aside.) As if I were in my grave perhaps — i 

Pshaw, what motive can they have for my death, (to Ang.) 

You are very good, sir. 

Ang. Not at all, I'm glad you are safe with us — but 

you did'nt finish your story, I think — however, we'll have 

i flask of wine first — a hearty draught will keep out the 

cold. 

[Ormoloff indicates, as he brings forward wine, that some- 
thing is misplaced, Angerstoff feelsin his. elt, then points 






16 THE FLOATING BEACON. 

hastily to a chest, Maurice takes out a phial, which Fred- 

eiuc observes, 

Fred. (Aside.) That phial, .what dreadful secresy is 
this! 

Ang. Now OrmolofF fill the cup (takes wine into which 
the contents of the phial has been administered.) Here, 
friend, drink and refresh yourself, you are fatigued — drink 

Fred. After you, if you please. 

Ang. Another cup there, OrmolofF, for me ; we'll drink 
together — come — come. 

As they are about to seat themselves, Mariette comes to 
i the window. 

Mar. Angerstoff! Angerstoff! 
[Angersloff crosses, shows a dagger to Mariette, and 

threatens. 

Ang. Silence, madwoman, — or — 
[Frederick changes the cups an the cask, so as to be seen by 

Marriette. 

Fred. Providence, I thank thee, now to change the 
cups. 

Mar. (Wildly.) Ha, ha, ha ! [Exit. 

Angerstoff returns. 

Ang. Let us shake hands and be friends ; your health. 

Fred. And yours. [Both drink. 

Ang. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Fred. You are merry. 

Ang. 'Tis the strength of the wine. 

Fred. Its effects are powerful — nay, instantaneous, or I 
am exhausted with fatigue. 

Ang. I perceive you are overcome — compose yourself 
a little, it will recover you — we'll leave you for half an 
hour. 

Fred. Thank you. 

Ang. ( To Ormloff.) Mariette's locked in the chamber ? 

Orm. Yes — here are the keys. 

Music, they retire, t. e. r. h. Frederic pretends to sleep, 
and they return with daggers. 

Ang. He sleeps ! all's rightj I tell you he has heard too 



THE FLOATING BEACON. IT 

much of Mariette's story, should he quit the Beacon alive, 
we are lost — he must die — 'tis well he is in our power. 

Fred. The woman then is my friend ? 

Orm. What was that ! 

Ang. He spoke in his sleep — come, we have steeped our 
hands in blood, and with blood only can we purchase se- 
curity. 

Fred. Horror ! what is it you say ! [Starting up. 

Ang. You are awake ! 

Fred. Yes, what would you ? 

Ang. I am weary, and come to rest in my own chair — 

Fred. And your men — 

Ang. They — they have to liim the light yonder at all 
hours ; you can go (exit Ormoloff and Maurice, down hold.) 
there we'll sleep by each other's side (seats himself) what 
the devil ails my limbs — a cramp like feeling, steals over 
me — my blood becomes thick and cold — I — 

[Falls asleep. 
Music, Frederic takes the lamp, draws Angerstoff's sword, 

looks cautiously about, and is stealing towards the ladder 

as Maurice and Ormoloff enter from hold, and rush at 

him with their swords. 

Orm. Hold or you die ! 

Fred. Pursue me not, I insist on quitting the vessel — I 
know you — I changed the wine, I knew I was betrayed — 
avvay, and let me pass. 

Both. Never, never ! give up the sword ! 

Fred. When I no longer possess strength to grasp it, 
then, and not till then, will I become your victim ! 
Music, a fuiious combat — he is nearly overcome, when Ma- 

riette, suddenly enters from the cabin, and stands over 

him, with a brace of Pistols. 

PICTURE FORMED. 

Mariette. 
Ormoloff. Frederic Maurice. 

Angerstoff — asleep. 

END OF ACT I. 



18 THE FLOATING BEACON. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— A rocky Strand, and Sea ly Moonlight— Jack 
Junk and Sailors discovered. 



Push about the grog, boys, 

Merry be ashore, 
Now the storm is past, boys, 

We'll all afloat once more; 
In spite of wind and weather, 

Ah ! who so blithe as we, 
We'll joke and laugh together," 
At the dangers of the sea. 
Here's a hearty swig, boys, to every jolly dog, 
Push about the grog, boys, push about the grog. 

Jack. Ha, ha, ha ! 'tis lucky Ben's cag came afloat after 
us, or shiver my timbers, but we should all have been drier 
than pickled herrings, not withstanding our ducking ! this 
has been the devil of a hurricane though, the boat com- 
pletely upset, and now my lady moon is shining as beau- 
tifully as a ship's candle through a cats head. — So so, here 
comes old Weignstadt with signals of distress hanging 
out of his cabin windows ; what cheer my hearty, what 
cheer ! 

Enter Weignstadt, l. h. 

Weign. My good friend, you were mistaken, I have 
been along side the Floating Beacon — my poor boy Fred- 
eric is noi there, he's lost ! 

Jack. Lost, the devil ! — I tell you when we were upset, 
I saw him swim as manfully as a dolphin, to the Beacon 
side, and up he was in an instant — I should have followed 
by the same rope, only it broke you see, and left me to 
flounder about in the water, till I got hold of a plank that 
brought me safe ashore, and damme here I am as jovial 
as ever, aye, and ready too, to give the enemies of old En- 
gland a drubbing, and drink success to the pretty girls, by 
sea and by land. [Drinks. 

Weign. What am I to suppose ? the Captain, whom I 



THE FLOATING BEACON. 13 

hailed on board, assured me upon his word, that no one 
had entered his vessel, except the government men, for 
many a long year. 

Jack. Avast ! avast ! I don't believe a word on't ; he 
might as well attempt to tell me that there isn't a petticoat 
aboard. 

Weign. A woman on board the Floating Beacon ? it 
cannot be. 

Jack. I don't know whether it can be or not, but I know 
it is ! I discovered it through the purser's glass, from the 
mast head of our sloop, no longer ago than yesterday. 

Weign. Such a circumstance is against all " law ; yet, 
should the sailor speak the truth, it may account for the 
man's reluctance to admit strangers— but he so solemnly 
denied Frederic's presence that — 

Jack. Denied it l well, well, I'll just pop along side the 
lubber, with a little bit of oakum in my fist, and if he dare 
but to give me the lie, in the same way, I'll teach him to 
sail under false colors with a vengeance, or don't say my 
name's Jack Junk — a lie, ha ! 

Weign. But how to get aboard the Beacon ? 

Jack. How ! why with the use of my grappling irons 
here, and a rope ladder to be sure 

Weign. You know not, that except in cases of distress, 
the convicts are forbid to admit strangers ; their business 
is merely to warn vessels off the sand banks. 

Jack. And isn't mine a case of distress, don't I seek a 
messmate, and hasn't the rascally poltroon sent me word I 
lie? — don't I Gemand justice ? 

Weign. I'm afraid justice, without other interference, 
wnl obtain you no entrance aboard the Beacon. 

Jack. But I say it shall, if they don't bring my mess- 
mate forward, I'll serve him one way or another, for I'll 
blow the Beacon to the devil !— talk of justice not beiny- 
able to bring me aboard ! I'll let 'em see that I was born 
in a Christian land, where justice stands on no ceremony 
at all, no she walks into the poor man's cabin, and the rich 
man's parlor, without axing leave ; and wherever she finds 
a rogue lays her paws upon him, and be damn'd ! A lie 
ha— a British sailor lie— fire and fury, I'll knock the fell 
low down if he were as big as a three decker, and I only 
the size of a cock boat,— a lie, ha ! 



20 THE FLOATING BEACON. 

Weign. Well, well, compose yourself; good heaven I 
here comes Christine — my distress is insupportable — how 
shall I answer Jier anxious inquiries ,only by — 

Jack. A lie — a lie, ha ! 

Weign. My poor child ! it will be impossible to — 

Jack. Hold your jawing - tackle — leave me to settle the 
matter — mayhap she'll believe what I say — avast, avast ! 

Enter Christine, l. h. 

Chris. He is not here — Father ! where is Frederic i do 
tell me ? 

Jack. A lie, ha ! 

Chris. How ! , 

Jack. Frederic's abqard the Beacon, my lass I'll soon 
steer him safe ashore, — this lie sticks in my throat most 
confoundedly, 

Chris. No ! will you bring him to me- will you indeed ! 

Jack. Aye, aye, I'll soon slew-him to an anchor in the 
heaven of your arms, depend on't. 

Chris. Dear father this is not jesting, is it ? — Frederic 
is safe — is he safe, father ? 

Jack. Fire and pitch, I seem to be getting a badish 
name here, and all through that box'd up lubber, in the 
Beacon — a lie, ha ! ' 

Weign. Yes, child, you may believe honest Jack — he 
saw Frederic enter the vesse', on the sand bank. 

Chris. Gracious providence ! hear and accept ray heart- 
felt prayers, and ever, ever be thy especial charge, the poor 
sea boy amid the wreck of storms — the unfortunate mari- 
ner in the tempest's rage. 

Jack. That's just what my Poll, said when I parted from 
her last at Deptford^ Jack, snivelled she, looking as sly as 
an f.ngel and brushing away a tear, with the back of her 
hand thus ; Jack said she, (and then she gave me this here 
'bacca box,) so you are going to saif the salt seas — well I 
hopes as how, when there's a stiff breeze abroad, they'll be 
a little chirrup aloit to keep watch for the life of poor Jack. 
Then, dear creature, she sat herself down, on the grass to 
cry, quite overcome ye see and so I sat down too, and I 
kissed away her tears, and then I was quite overcome ; 
and what followed, I can't describe. {Wipes away a tear.) 



THE FLOATING BEACON. 21 

However there is no time to be lost, so you Weignstadt 
go with my comrades to the sloop, state particulars like to 
the Captain, while I take your boat, and pull away to the 
Beacon, and if they don't immediately produce the young- 
ster, I'll just ram my fist down their ugly throats! — In 
case of resistance be on the look out, for signals — that's 
all, you know my whistle ? 

Weign. Alas! what should induce them to conceal — 

Chris. You alarm me ! what — 

Jack. Give over — give over ! leave me alone to bring the 
lad ashore, I'll soon find him, I warrant, it won't be the first 
time I've found a friend in an enemy's locker ; so, to sea, 
to sea — and d'ye mind— look out for signals. 

[Exit all but Junk and Christine, l. h. 
Now, my lass, I'll just pop into t'other boat and bring your 
sweetheart in a whiff. 

Chris. I shall be wretched here by myself— even ten 
minutes of delay, is an age in love's calendar — do pray 
take me with you to the Beacon. 

Jack. O, with all my heart ! you are a brave girl, and 
deserve a husband — so come along, we English sailors are 
never so happy, as when contributing to the happines of 
others, and especially to that of the ladies. 

f Exeunt, r. h. 

SCENE II. — As scene the 3d, act 1st. — Music, Angerstoff 
and Ormoloff discovered. 

Ang. Is the old fisherman gone towards the shore ? 

Orm. Yes, he turn'd his boat with a heavy heart, as if 
satisfied that the boy was drowned, and quitted the sand 
bank in silence. 

Ang. What did he call himself? 

Orm. VVeignstadt. 

Ang. VVeignstadt, — however it matters not — the boy is 
completely in our power — no body but Mariette knows of 
his being here, and if she attempts to open her lips on the 
subject, why she shares his fate, that's all ; are we to live 
all these years in security, and then be betrayed by a 
fisherman's foundling ! no — no — no ? the night watch is 
nearly up — suppose we extinguish the lanterns. 



22 THE FLOATING BEACON. 

Orm. The sooner the better I think ! 

Ang. Yet stay ! not just yet, it may excite suspicion, 
so come down, and let us be certain our captive is secure, 
and then take a glass of grog, and to our births — it may 
prevent mistrust, should any more of these prying fools be 
on the look out. 

Orm. You determine to put an end to the boy. 

Ang. Aye, or the consequence will prove — he will put 
an end to us, and we shall swing for all, at the top. of yon- 
der mast; he knows too much of Mariette's story; once 
ashore, the government men would listen to him. And 
now I think on'r, I'd a strange dream last night. 

Orm. Pshaw, you're so superstitious ! why, it was but 
last week, you fancied you saw the ghost of the man we 
murdered sixteen years ago — ha, ha ! 

Ang. You laugh, but I saw him for all that — there — on 
the level deck, standing in the pale moonlight, his ghastly 
terrible looks were full upon me!-^why — why, remind me 
of them '( — I like it not. 

Orm. Why, captain, you are getting crazed, of late ; 
you catch it of Mariette, I think — I wish that woman had 
been at peace, long ago. 

Ang. Silence ! — is'nt she my wife ? 

Orm. Your wife, ha, ha ! O yes ! your wife, but, she 
hates you, as the devil hates holy water, nevertheless ! 
however, 'tis the case with most wives I think, I know it 
was the case with mine, or I had never been sent here, 
she denounced me to the magistrates, and for what — 
merely because I robbed a monastery of its plate and 
rosaries, which she forsooth called sacrilege. — [Music. 

Ang. Hark ! what's that ? ; 

Enter Junk and Christine in a boat, u. e. r. h. 

Jack. Aboard, there ! aboard ! what cheer, ho ! 

Ang. Your business here, what seek ye? 

Jack. The young fellow who came up the side of the 
Beacon, in the storm. 

Ang. When? 

Jack. Come, come, you know ; yo-ho, yo-ho, all hands 
aboard, yo-yo ! 

Ang. Silence! — there's no one besides the present com. 
pany, and a person called Maurice in the vessel. 



THE FLOATING BEACON. 23 

Chris. Alas ! surely Frederic — 

Jack. You hear what he says — he tells me to my face, I 
lie — you said so before — you say I lie, do you see this 
pictur on my hat ? 

Ang. Well what of it ? 

Jack. Why, only that's just to let you know as how I 
belong- to the Eagle sloop ! I'm Jack Junk, of Deptford, 
and if you don't please to deliver up your prisoner, damme 
I'll pour such a broadside into your upper lights, as shall 
send you to the devil, twisting and sprawling like a wasp, 
in a whirlwind. 

Ang. I neither care about you, nor your sloop ; I am 
only answerable for what's on board this beacon, to the 
tyrants of my own nation — and as for your lying, or not, 
'tis all the same to me. 

Jack. O, ho! then you mean to sneer at my sloop do ye, 
that's worse than all the rest of your bravado put together 
— I'll soon let you see — 

[Jack enters on deck with Christine. 

Chris. For heaven's sake, be more calm — 'tis only 
Frederic we seek, a young man who was upset in the 
storm to night. 

Ang. He is not here. 

Chris. Alas, alas ! then I have been deceived, he is lost 
for ever ! Frederic, Frederic ! [Faints. 

Jack. (Holding her.) Here's a precious to do ! here's an 
upset! I tell you, Christine, all shall be right, only just 
open your day-lights a few minutes merely to see fair play, 
and I'll give this lubber such a douser, as shall send him 
to the bottom in a jiffey. 

Chris. I'm better, let us return, come— ha, what is it I 
discover ! that bracelet on the floor ? 'tis Frederic's — 'tis 
marked with the name of Malvern I 

Jack. I know it — he showed it me, lasl night! 

Chris. Ah ! then he must have been here — a fearful 
thought rushes through my mind — they have murdered 
him. 

Jack. Murdered him, 1 only wish they might, that's all. 

Ang. Away ! — or — 

Jack. Will you give up your prisoner ? 

Ang. You have no right here, begone. 



24 THE FLOATING BEACON. 

Jack. Masts and mainsails ! not till I given your honor 
an English steel pill, yo-ho ! yo-ho ! 

Ang. Miscreant ! seeure him ! 

Jack. Yo ho, yo-ho ! [Music. 

[Combat. — Jack beats of Anger stoff, Ormoloff enters with a 

sword, r. h. and Maurice, l. h. they JigM with Jack, 

while Christine hurries into the boat, Jack retreats towards 

boat also, and draws pistols. 

Jack. Mayhap, you don't know I'm an old eruizer, and 
not without a bulldog- for foreign varment, like you. 

Ang. Fire arms, below there ! 

[Music, they rush out, R. h. 

Jack. Ah ! you may fire, and be damn'd, I'll soon return, 
and crack your shell about your ears, my fine fish, depend 
on't, yo ho, yo-ho ! 

[Exit, u. E. r. h. with Christine in boat. 

Re-enter Angerstoff, and Ormoloff. 

Ang. Escaped ! run and watch the boat from the lower 
windows, Maurice — you, Ormoloff, put out the lantern, 
then they'll founder perhaps on the rocks ; and see the 
moon is setting — out with the lights. 

Orm. That's well thought of, now we have only to dis- 
patch the boy, and throw him into the sea, for here's the 
bracelet, droped out of the girl's hand, and they have no 
evidence against us. 

Ang. TJhat's fortunate, out with the lights. 

Orm. 'Tis done ! [Puts out the lantern. 

Ang. Now below ! let us prime with brandy and then — 

Orm. To business, ha, ha! [Exit down hold. 

Ang. (Going stops sudden.) What was that! did it not 
glide past me again, I saw it, yet there's nothing now, — 
'twas but the moonshine on the white mast; — out ye dis- 
temper'd fancies from my brain, it was not always thus ; 
I grow infirm of mind, while still my purpose is young 
and ripe, as in its summer moon, so were my thoughts but 
for these blasts of conscience, which bursts upon me in 
my feebler hours. — Yon slave was right, why did I save 
Mariette, my lenity and not her hate, will ruin me ! — Ere 
this I would have stabb'd her while she slept, but then her 
looks, so pale, so deadly still, seemed like my mother's as 



THE FLOATING BEACON. 25 

with fleeting breath she pour'd her latest blessing on my 
head ! O righteous judge! how have I marred that bles- 
sing, — vice led to crime and crime to crime succeeded — but 
I must not think thus — recollection drives me mad, — wine 
there, wine there! Ormoloff! 

[Exit, l. h. IstE. 

Music, — Enter Mariette, from Cabin with a lamp, l. h. 

Mar. What noise was that ! should it be the govern- 
ment-men, then there's hope, 'tis fortunate I succeeded 
in forcing back the bolts of my prison, I never felt so strong 
till now, ah ! some one approaches, (listens,) 'tis me he 
seeks, then I am lost — no, thank heaven, he comes not — 
dreadful situation ! could I but save the life of this poor 
boy even at the hazard of my own. 

[Music, as she lifts a trap in the centre and descends. 

Enter Angerstoff, l. h. and Ormoloff, from hold. 

Ang, Is that you, Ormoloff ? 

Orm. Yes ! 

Ang. Well, did you find Mariette's door secure ! 

Orm. I did, here's the key. 

Ang. That's right, but hadn't you a light in your hand ? 

Orm, A light — when ? 

Ang, Just now ? 

Orm. No ! 

Ang. I'm sure I saw a light ! 

Orm. Then it was Maurice, here he comes. 

Enter Maurice from hold with lamp. 

Mau. Did you speak ? 

Ang. Yes, we can't see in the dark — now lift up the 
trap door, and let us dispatch our victim, I wish it were 
done. 

Orm. (Rises to open it.) 'Tis long since we used this 
door, its old hinges are incrusted with rust, and will not 
yield, or else it must be fastened on the inside. 

Ang. Fastened, that's impossible, but it doesn't matter, 
the boy cannot resist our attack, so let us take a sup of - 
brandy to animate us, and then rush upon him by the iron 
door below, — come — come — despatch. [Exit down hold. 



26 THE FLOATING BEACON. 

SCENE III. — TKe Hold, lighted fr om the ceiling by an iron 
lamp, bed partially concealed by a tattered curtain in a 
recess, r. h. a low grated door, l. h. [Music. 

(Frederic, kneeling.) 

Fred* What a miserable fate is mine ! ere I knew the 
blessings of existence, I was deprived of my only parents 
by calamity ; and now that I have attempted to discover 
them I am pursued by a more rigorous destiny ; must I 
become the prey of fiends, more remorseless than wolves ? 
Beloved Christine ! good old Weignstadt ! why did I leave 
your hospitable cottage, your fond endearments ! — to per- 
ish in the dark inexplicable mystery — no ray of escape ! 
—no hope — 

Music, a pannel opens behind the bed, through which Ma- 
riette, enters. 

Mar. Suppress your astonishment, only this one dread- 
ful moment is spared us ! the bracelet you spoke of, where 
is it? 

Fred. What sordid avarice ! yet she has proved herself 
a friend — the bracelet! why do you ask for it ? 

Mar. In pity, delay not an instant ! 

Fred. Know you not, they have robbed me of it, should 
you wish to restore it to me— 'tis — . 

Mar. Of red Coral ! 

Fred. True — and the name it contains — 

Mar. Engraved on an onyx — 

Fred. You have found it then ? 

Mar. No, no ! but I have seen it oft, in happier days, 
jet me gaze on thee a moment — sixteen years since, you 
were wreck'd on the eve of St. Mark. 

Fred. Yes ! you remember the wreck ? 

Mar. O, too well I remember it — it was full of nameless 
horror for me — rnethinks even now, I hear the roaring of 
that night's tempest ! again the forked lightnings seem to 
warp my brain ! 'till that night, boy, thou hadst a father, 
a fond doating, noble father ! 

Fred. Gracious powers ! — you know then — speak ! — he 
perished in the storm ! 

Mar. True he perished in the storm, but not by the 



THE FLOATING! BEACON. 27 

overwhelming deluge, no ! — long he battled with the furi- 
ous breakers, and still upheld his senseless wife, till he bore 
her in safety to this detested Beacon — here he sought pro- 
tection of .men, he had wealth about his person, he sought 
protection and they gave him — 

Fred. What! 

Mar. A dagger ! 

Fred. A dagger ! monsters ! and my mother ! — 

Mar. Thy mother lives ! 

Fred. Lives ! and cannot I one moment behold her, one 
moment ! gracious heaven ! 

Mar. It was her hand placed that bracelet round thy 
neck, ah ! little did she then think how soon the merciless 
waves would dash thee from her arms, she lives perhaps 
to bear thy curses to her grave, for know, and let the 
thought madden thee, as it has done me — she is now the 
wife of thy father's murderer ! 

Fred. Impossible ! 

Mar, Aye ! so heaven and nature might alike declare; 
death had been a paradise, slavery, want, beggary, an em- 
pire of bliss compared to the hell of tortures she was 
doomed to sustain, — she heard the last untimely groan of 
her husband to whom her devoted soul adhered : like sea 
tossed wretches, clinging to one lone raft on ocean's 
broadest depth, yet she died not; — her wits wandered, but 
existence still remained ! she lived the slave of these three 
wretches who now seek thy life ; tears were useless, to 
avert a dreadful fate, and to save herself from the brutal 
insults of two ruffians, she consented to become the wife 
of a third even more relentless ; a mock ceremony was per- 
formed by Ormoloff, who calls himsel the Beacon priest, — 
it was done to quiet the reason of the devoted mother, but 
it plunged her still deeper in despair, deeper into phrenzy, 
— curse her, curse her ! that she may die ! 

Fred. Alas, alas ! and wherefore should I curse her, no, 
no ! though unparalleled adversity hath sunk her to the 
wretches bitterest portion, her soul may still be unstained 
and pure as mountain ice ! O, that I could clasp her for 
an instant in these extended arms, and when I ceased to 
love, to honour, and to cherish her, it must be with the 
last throb my own grateful heart I 



28 THE FLOATING BEACON. 

Mar. (Rushing into his arms.) My child, my child! I 
am thy wretched mother ! 

Fred. Thou — thou — heaven's blessings on thee, dearest, 
— dearest mother ! 

Mar. Providence, this one moment of delight, amply re- 
pays me sixteen years of suffering ! 

Fred. They approach ! we will die in each other's 
arms : 

Mar. But not here, through yonder pannel, which con- 
ducts to a trap, opening to the deck of the vessel, a 
fatal entrance constructed by your father's assasins for the 
purpose of aiding scenes of blood, too often acted in this 
dreadful place, whenever fate has thrown, into their power, 
victims like him, worthy their remorseless avarice — 
through that pannel we may escape — stay a moment I'll 
draw back the bolt and listen. [Exit with lamp at door. 

Fred. If I could but possess myself of a sword, with my 
best strength — 

Re-enter Mariette. 

Mar. Alas, as I lifted up the trap door some one rushed 
towards the spot, I am pursued, tis the light which di- 
rects the intruder. 

[Fredric blows out the light, Music as they pass behind 
the iron door. 

Enter Angerstoff and Ormloff through door, followed by 
Maurice with a light, Frederic, (who is behind door) 
blows out light, and escapes with Mariette. 

Ang. How now lyou've put out the light ? 
Orm. It was the sea wind, rushing through the door. 
Ang. We'll go and rekindle it? 
Ormloff exits and re-enters at door with light. 
Have you closed the door ? 

Orm. Yes, there^-[Shuts the door. 

Ang. Where's the captive ? 

Orm. On the bed — see ; he shakes the curtains now — 

Ang. Who— who's to strike the blow ? 

Mau. and Orm. All ! our danger is mutuah 

Ang. Well, well, now ! 



THE FLOATING BEACON. , 29 

[Music, as he hurries towards the place, the curtain is rent 

down and Jack Junk, with a fatty of Marines, enter. 

Jack. I said I'd batter your house about your ears, you 
precious rascals — so have at you. 

Ang. Confusion, betrayed ? — fly, fly, — 

f They rush out at the door. 

Jack. Ha ! they've fairly given us the slip, they can't 
escape though, for I haul'd up the cabin ladder again — so 
after them lads, after them — the door fast ? this way then, 
or they'll come the black hole with us, this way — but 
where's Frederic, I wonder— I'm sure I heard him within 
hail — yo-ho, Frederic! yo-ho ! [Exeunt through pannei] 

SCENE THE LAST. 

Same as the second with the lights out, and ladder up. 
Enter Mariette and Frederic, from cabin. 

Fred. Come dear mother, let us fly, let us throw a plank 
into tne sea, and trust to providence. 

Mar. Our pursuers are at hand — what will become of us, 
— we must perish — for myself death were nothing, but to 
witness thy destruction ! — till now I never knew the cli- 
max of misery, my son — my son ! 

Fred. Must we then untimely mingle our dying blood 
ogether, in the solitudes of the ocean, — unpitied, unreven-. 
yed — comfort, dearest mother, — we have met, we embrace 
aach other tenderly — let us even for that be grateful. 

Mar. Frederic — Frederic ! 

Music, as she rushes into his arms, Angerstoff, Maurice, 
and Ormoloff enter from cabin. 

Ang. Destruction to Mariette, — the trait'ress shall not 
jscape ! 

Fred. Approach then, monsters ! and strike your vie- 
,im in the arms of her son ! — we are prepared to die ! 

Music, as they rush towards Mariette, Jack Junk and 
followers enter, s. E. r. h. 



20 THE FLOATING BEACON. 

Jack. Who the devil wants you to die, — nobody shall 
die here — but these rascals, — a broadside here. 
Music, they fire, Angerstoff and party are killed, the vessel 
fired — picture formed, three cheers, Eagle sloop comes in 
sight with Weignstadt, Christine, &c. &c. 



DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS AT THE 
FALL OF THE CURTAIN. 



m 


Frederick. 




gs 


Mariette. 


Ormoloff. 




Jack. 


Angerstoff.' 


§ 




Maurice. 



TURNER'S 



DRAMATIC LIBRARY. 



List of Plays 

1, Therese, 

2 Dead Shot, 

3 Hamlet, 

4 Chimney Piece, 

5 Clari, 

6 Dumb Belle, 

7 Unfinished Gent, 

8 Golden Farmer, 

9 John Jones, 

10 Uncle Sam 

11 Tom Cringle, 

12 Hunting a Turtle, 

13 Provost of Bruges, 

14 Wandering Minstrel, 

15 Richard III, 

16 Man about town, 

17 My Uncle John, 
' 19 The Seven Clerks, 

20 Lucille, 

21 Douglass, 

22 Review, 

23 Ugolino 

24 P. P, 

25 Mummy, 
29 Wrecker's Daughter, 

27 Bottle Imp, 

28 Flight to America, 

29 Wallace, 

30 Omnibus, 

31 Damon and Pythias, 

32 Gladiator, 

33 Pickwick Club, 

34 Love Chase 

35 Pizarro, 
3t5 Othello, 
3T LaSonambula, 
38 Lady of Lyons, 



already Published. 

39 Athenian Captive, 

40 Woman's wit, 

41 The Irish Lion, 

42 The Spitfire, 

43 St. Patrick's Eve, 

44 Rory O More, 

45 The Ransom, 

46 Pleasant Neighbours, 

47 Maid of Mariendorpt, 

48 Tom Noddy's Secret, 

49 The Stranger, 

50 Ion, 

51 Richelieu, 
25 Virginius, 

53 Sea Captain, 

54 Love, 

55 Maid of Florence, 

56 John Di Procida 

57 Old Maids, 

58 Cinderella, 

59 Fra Diavlo, 

60 Money, 

61 London Apprentice, 

62 Hunchback, 

63 School for Scandal, 

64 Apostate, 

65 Venice Preserved 

66 Iron Chest, 

67 The Bridal, 

68 Love in Humble Life, 

69 Raising the Wind, 

70 Swiss Cottage, 

71 Nipped in the Bud, 

72 Perplexing Predicament 

73 Did you ever Send your 
I Wife to Brooklyn, 

1 74 Floating Beacon, 



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